


lose my mental, hold my hand

by ironcouer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:39:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironcouer/pseuds/ironcouer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mingyu meets minghao and permanently tattoos his heart on his sleeve | a little slice of life, nyc broadway au</p>
            </blockquote>





	lose my mental, hold my hand

Mingyu is kicking himself, mentally, over and over. “It’s a three hour wait,” he says sheepishly, and Minghao shrugs. “Let’s look someplace else, then.” Mingyu nods, and prays that the fourth restaurant they walk into is a charm. He also prays that he gets up the nerve to kiss Minghao tonight. He’s not 12 years old anymore, but he feels like it. When Minghao’s hand swings and brushes against his, he does his best not to stutter like the damn fool he is. 

Minghao is his coworker, sort of. They met at an audition, fifty other twenty-somethings going out for parts they will most likely never hear back from. Mingyu sits next to him because he looks vaguely threatening and wants to sniff out the competition, but he’s going out for a dance part. Mingyu sighs and strikes up a conversation. He’s actually gentle and funny and breathtaking and after their auditions, they go and get smashed on cheap liquor in Minghao’s apartment because they completely bombed. Minghao’s eyes sparkle and he rambles about how he misses his family and nothing is the same and he can barely make his way around the city. 

“I’ll be your tour guide,” Mingyu promises, whiskey breath strong and pungent, but Minghao leans into it anyways. “Anywhere you wanna go, baby, I’ll take you.”  
They might have kissed then, were it not for Mingyu promptly throwing up into his fake potted plants. 

*

“It wasn’t bad!” Minghao pushes Mingyu away from him, and he bounces, like a cheap toy, back from the wall and to crash into Minghao again. “The pizza had potatoes in it, though,” Mingyu says, pulling his coat around him. 

“It felt authentic, or some shit like that.” 

Mingyu giggles. “Let me buy you a cannoli, like, it’s almost as big as your head.”

Minghao side eyes him and huffs. “We’re not gonna share one right? I’m thoroughly against Italian food being used for romantic purposes.”

“Does that mean you’re not against other kinds of food being used for romantic purposes?”

Minghao laughs and almost runs into the doorjamb of the delicatessen. 

“If I have you over for dumplings, guard your heart.”

Mingyu swears, on his fucking life, Minghao will be the death of him. 

*

Minghao orders gelato from the little freezer in the corner, and it’s surprisingly delicious. It’s also a surprising death warrant, with Mingyu not desensitized to the way Minghao is licking the cream off of the spoon. God, he’s sinful. 

“What flavor did you order,” Mingyu asks, eyes on his lips, brain on his heart, tears in his sleeves. 

“Guess, if you get it right I’ll give you a taste,” Minghao is beckoning and Mingyu is sweating. 

“What if I get it wrong?” Mingyu asks. Theyre walking to the train station, and it’s very dark. Minghao’s face is illuminated by the corner store’s neon lights, he’s a goddamn star. It’s blinding. 

“I’m gracious. I’ll give you another try.”

They’re getting closer to the train. If this were any other night, Mingyu would be fumbling with his metro card and mentally wondering if he needed to reload it, but this is Minghao. He’s just thinking that they had a lot of wine at dinner and Minghao’s lip are wet and full and his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. 

Mingyu doesn’t touch his metro card. 

“I have two questions,” Mingyu asks, pulling on Minghao’s arm and stopping him under a shoddy street light.

Minghao is buzzing. “Ask away.”

“How is your alcohol tolerance?” Mingyu asks, pulling his waist against his own, stapled papers crinkling together. 

“I hold my liquor, babe.”

Mingyu pushes the fringe from his face, it’s warm and they’re so close and Mingyu is a touch away from tasting everything. 

“Second question, Min, tell me.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You know exactly what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Minghao bites his bottom lip and grasps Mingyu’s neck with his explansive hand. “You talk too much,” and he leans in to taste.

Mingyu learns that it’s strawberry mint, and Minghao learns they missed their train. 

*

Minghao has his first successful gig: dancing troupe in an off-off-Broadway production, but at least he can add something to his transcript. 

Mingyu’s on his bed when he gets the call, flitting through emails and trying to get his schedule worked around a very important callback. Mingyu has slotted himself into all the empty cracks in Minghao’s life, pushing out and rearranging calmly and casually. He’d become important, somehow, an entity all his own, a nerve carved into Minghao’s thoracic spinal region. 

Mingyu goes deadly silent when he gets the call, shutting down his email, and when Minghao gives him the thumbs up, the it’s good news face, he jumps up, he dances, he sings. 

Minghao gets off the phone and is greeted by Mingyu’s hugs, his mouth moving in every direction, spots of I’m so proud of you and you’ve worked so hard and get dressed babe, we’re celebrating. 

Minghao smiles and kisses Mingyu, slow and languid, relaxing into it, letting it envelope him. It feels like a cloud both burning and sweeping against him in a cold fog, and when Mingyu kisses down his neck, punctuating each touch with encouragement, Minghao’s fingers curl into his knotted hair and he’s flying.

It goes in waves, from hot metal to cool ice and they ride it, bites and redness to tongues soothing the heat, and Minghao wants to know if this is his reward, or if he’s just lucky.   
Mingyu pushes his hands against Minghao’s chest, feeling the expanse and the rise and fall of his muscles, drops his hand so he can feel how Minghao breathes through his diaphragm when they kiss. 

“It’s a performance thing,” Minghao had explained. “I breathe like that when I’m trying to capture everything, to be my calmest but to get the most out of this. You. It’s…” He’d never finished his sentence before Mingyu had lapped up his words. 

“Congratulations,” Mingyu says breathlessly. They both get up from the bed, and Mingyu pulls out slacks from his drawer he’d been assigned three months in. It has grown, Mingyu also gets half of the closet and over a majority of the bathroom cabinet. He’s a fever, a menace, and everything else. 

“Thank you, I—I’m glad you’re the first one that knows. Thank you, for everything.”

Mingyu smiles and rubs his check with his thumb. “I’m glad I was too.”

“After this week, you’re not getting any feelings out of me for like, a month.”

Mingyu smiles. “Don’t write checks your poor heart can’t cash.”

Minghao hates it when he’s right.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this and climbing on this wreck with me, i love gyuhao and u too


End file.
